


A Pistol in the Dash

by Honeymull



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-02
Updated: 2011-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeymull/pseuds/Honeymull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It sounds so narcissistic to word it as “hero worship".</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pistol in the Dash

There was always something simmering under the surface with them. And yes, Nicky knows it sounds stupid, and he can't quite articulate it in a way that makes it seem _less_ stupid. At first, he's pretty certain, it was just admiration. Hell, he'd watched the same interviews the fans did, where Dubi's bright-eyed and awed by Nicky's skating, his play. That was right when Nicky first came to New York.

Dubi chilled out after a while, settled into his realization that Nicky was just human, and Nicky appreciated it. He did. He wasn't all Dubi cracked him up to be, after all. There were still times when he'd score an impossible goal or make an impossible pass, that would get the same expression of wide-eyed admiration, but it was tempered now. With what, Nicky couldn't quite say.

Well. He could say what he _wanted_ it to be, of course. He _wanted_ it to be a little less wide-eyed and a little more heavy-lidded, a little less awed and a little more appraising. But Dubi's a corn-fed kid who still retains the ability to idolize someone barely two years older than him with no more talent than Dubi himself is capable of achieving, and achieving damn quickly if he keeps playing how he is now. He's young and while Nicky's not that much older, he knows what's going on here. It sounds so narcissistic to word it as “hero worship”, embarrassingly so, but Nicky sees it in Dubi's posture, in the tilt of his shoulders into Nicky's, in the set of his hopeful eyebrows when he crowds Nicky into the wall of their shared hotel bathroom one afternoon. They're on the road for three games straight, just played the first one at noon that day, and they're both thrumming with the tension of a drawn-out overtime win.

Nicky gets an arm up between them, even though Dubi's not doing anything but standing too-close and watching Nicky with his head cocked to one side. He's breathing a little faster than usual, though, pretty pink lips parted and a sliver of white teeth showing where his mouth quirks in a tiny approximation of a smile.

Nicky frowns, lets his expression ask what exactly Dubi thinks he's doing, since he's only capable of forming a gruff “What?”, and even then, his accent slips, ends up garbling it too much.

Dubi's expression doesn't really change, but his eyes go brighter, and oh, this is bad. “Aw, come on, we just won, man. We were kinda awesome.”

Nicky's on board with that sentiment, and he lets his arm relax between their chests, lowering that barrier almost unconsciously. Dubi presses the advantage, smiles a little wider and tells him, “You were awesome.”

Okay, that trips the alarms right back on in the back of his head again, but Brandon ducks in under the red flags and alarm bells going off, and knocks the hand that Nicky brings up to stop him away when he leans in, catches Nicky's bottom lip in a kind of half-bite, half-kiss that makes all the breath rush out of Nicky's body in a whoosh.

It's over pretty quickly. Brandon draws away, smirking in a scary imitation of Sean when he's gotten away with something under the ref's noses, and just – waits.

Nicky's a little disconcerted (somewhere _way_ in the back of his mind at this point) that the kid can apparently predict his reactions so well, but he's too busy shoving Dubi back with two palms flat on his chest to care. Dubi's back hits the opposite wall, next to the door and perpendicular to the sinks, and he _oofs_ like it hurts more than being slammed into the boards at top-speed by some hulking enforcer on any given opposing team.

Nicky spares a derisive eyebrow at that, and Dubi laughs at him, mouth open. Nicky returns the hybrid bite-kiss Dubi gave him first, draws it out this time. Dubi gives back as good as he gets – not that Nicky would have expected anything different -, opening up and sucking Nicky's tongue into his mouth, uses his teeth a couple times.

Nicky can't keep his eyes open. His hand is starting to cramp where it's pinning Brandon in place, his dick is pushing up insistently against the fly of his jeans, and all he wants to do is keep Brandon right here, where he's sucking on Nicky's tongue and nipping at his lips while Nicky lets the wall support both of them as he drops his weight, rubs off on Brandon's hip.

He groans, his hips stuttering forward helplessly. Brandon draws back from the kiss at the sudden extra pressure, and Nicky has a moment where he wants to bang his head against the wall because duh, obviously, that went too far. Stupid to think Brandon's going to be okay with Nicky pushing his dick all up on him -

But Brandon's drawn back to get his hands sorted, which Nicky figures out when they slide around his own hips, pull him in a little closer, and oh _god_ , yeah, there's Brandon's thigh pressing in between his legs, just the right kind of friction and pressure, and he humps down once, twice, can't _help_ it, it's so good. Brandon's head goes back into the wall with a thunk, and Nicky pries his own heavy-lidded eyes open enough to see Brandon's chest heaving, his throat pink and flushed, a pretty hue that disappears into the collar of his shirt.

It's a gorgeous sight, and Nicky breathes out something hoarse, awed in Russian, pushes in even closer and slides his hand down Brandon's chest to close around his hip. The curve of bone there fits his palm perfectly, and he yanks forward, gets them lined up right, scissored together properly so Brandon has something to rub up against, too.

Nicky could swear Brandon stops breathing for a few seconds at that, and then his mouth is gasping in air, throat working in time with the ensuing needy rolls of his hips against Nicky's thigh. The bathroom wall isn't the most glamorous place for this to happen, but Brandon seems to be enjoying it just fine, and even though Nicky gets a momentary jolt of heat through him at the thought of spreading Brandon out on one of those queen beds out in the main room, he can't complain, either.

He latches onto Brandon's neck, bites lightly into the tendon standing out near his collarbone and relishes the shudder it provokes, files that away for another time. For now, he can barely manage to spread one hand across the obscene line of Brandon's cock in his sweats, nearly losing it himself when he feels the obvious wet staining the soft fabric. He closes his eyes and listen to Brandon try to muffle a whine when he squeezes, then muffle a cry when Nicky strokes once. It's rough and perfect and Brandon jerks fitfully, coming hard in his pants. Nicky feels it spread over his fingers, damp and hot, and it's only a few more seconds of bracing himself up again and rutting against Brandon's drooping form until he comes, too.

It takes a solid few minutes to catch his breath. Brandon blinks hazily up at him when Nicky levers himself off the wall and puts some space between him and Brandon.

Nicky thinks he's keeping his face blank when he looks down at Brandon, and maybe he is, but Brandon clears his throat anyway, licks his lips and says, “Yeah?”

The big muscles in his thighs are starting to ache, and Nicky drops a fist to knuckle at his right leg. He's not sure how to answer. He's not sure what's being _asked_.

But it's Brandon, and now Brandon's smiling at him - as if Nicky's mind isn't bleary and confused _enough_ \- and it's the same kind of smile he'll give him when he's barreling into him after a goal or when Nicky gives a good interview in English, or whenever Brandon's just...happy.

Nicky decides not to say anything after all. He drags his fingertips across Brandon's neck in light, fluttering touches, and presses his thumb into the hollow of his throat just to hear the hoarse gasp and feel the resulting swallow.

Then he lets his mouth quirk up in a slight, crooked grin and saunters out of the bathroom.

Brandon scrambles to follow.


End file.
